


Night Visitor

by SecondFace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Knotting, M/M, Other, Rape, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFace/pseuds/SecondFace
Summary: Dean's night visitor.
Relationships: Hellhound(s)/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	Night Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DieTheSlashAddict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DieTheSlashAddict/gifts).



> So, probably not what you had in mind, but happy birthday DieTheSlashAddict 0.o

There are eyes on him, Dean can feel them on his back following him from the diner around the main street and back to his motel.

It isn’t the local cops and there are no creatures around, as far as Dean knows. Whatever it is, is giving him the heebie-jeebies by managing to stay out of sight. He’d bail, but dinner involved more than one drink while watching a game—and it’s not like he’s is unaware of the fact that he’s a paranoid bastard.

The motel room is secure, salt in all the relevant places, locked doors, it should be good for the night. There is still a half-bottle of rotgut in his duffle he can use for a nightcap and with no neighbors on either side PBS to keep things from getting too quiet. 

He dreams of hell, it’s almost comforting in its gut-clenching terror and scalding heat.

Fighting against the chains holding him down, Dean twists and turns in his sleep getting tangled in the sheets until he’s stuck, silent sobs muffled by the pillow cocooned and trapped, waiting—

He’d always hated the waiting.

When the demons disappeared between torture sessions, the respites were the worst torture of all, the kindness of them, the hope that always crawled into his brain that maybe, this time they won’t come back, except they always do.

He doesn’t have to wait long this time.

Snarls warn him of what’s to come.

A heavy weight lands on his back, a deep sulfurous growl rattling his bones.

Fabric rips and muzzily Dean wonders where it has come from, he’d been naked and chained for so long held in place by magic and demonic will, that sweat-soaked cotton is a surprise.

Cool air on his ass makes Dean gasp in shock.

Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, he opens his eyes to the sight of nothing. The nightmare goes away but the weight on his back doesn’t disappear, neither does the scalding, sulfurous breath on the back of his neck. 

The thought of having landed back in hell gives him renewed strength to struggle even as razor-sharp fangs dig into the back of his neck until he smells blood. 

The hellhound’s growl grows more urgent.

Its tongue, meant to strip flesh from bones, scrapes across the back of Dean’s neck.

“No!” Dean finally manages, “Fuck off! You mangy bastard!”

Except yelling at the hell hounds never worked.

The weight on Dean’s back shifts, a heavy paw landing in the middle of Dean’s back as the hound works its way down his spine all the way to where Dean can still feel cold night hair on his bare ass. 

Another useless “no” escapes him as Dean feels the sandpaper-like tongue push between his asscheeks. 

Viscous saliva drips down his crack and memories float to the surface he’d thought were banished forever. 

The hound turns, it’s paw scratching Dean’s back, tugging at the sheet keeping him prisoner until it gives.

He feels the tangle around his legs loosen, tries to kick only to hit solid muscle realizing his error when the hound forces its way between them. The weight of the creature forces the air out of his lungs.

Dean howls into the pillow as he feels the creature’s dick slide out of its sheath. Dragging fat and slimy against Dean’s ass it is huge already and getting bigger by the second as the hound starts to hump him. 

It’s not going to fit, Dean tells himself as panic claws at his gut, it can’t—not here, human bodies don’t work that way. He’d bleed out if the hound tried anything and it’s a fucked up way to die, and god, Sammy will never know what happened…

The first time the tapered tip of the hound’s dick catches on the rim of his asshole Dean freezes up, clenches with everything he’s got.

The hound growls its displeasure its aim improving, the tapered head of its dick battering at Dean’s straining muscle. 

He bites his lip, thinks about the last book he had to dig through two hunts ago, dry as dust spell descriptions that made him go crosseyed. It doesn’t help, the weight of the beast on top of him, the sulfurous-hot breath scalding his back at the hound batters at Dean’s defenses. 

Tears spring to his eyes, nausea churning in his gut making Dean taste bile. 

The human body cannot stand up to a hellhound’s assault. 

His ass and thighs are already dripping with the slime dripping from the hellhound’s dick, tightening Dean’s skin and making him want to wiggle and scratch the itch, distracting him, breaking his concentration.

Dean’s strength gives out and like it smells weakness the hound strikes, pushes it its aim just right for the head of its dick to pop past Dean’s rim.

Screaming denial against the pillow already soggy with his tears and saliva, Dean tries to trash only to feel the hound’s dick slide deeper stretching him open as it goes. 

Sense memory surfaces, the heat, and slickness of the hellhound’s dick pressing inside of him, the merciless stretch as it starts humping whining its satisfaction.

He could pray to Castiel, Dean thinks muzzily, but that would mean being seen—questions…

Cas might have raised him from perdition, but Dean is pretty sure the angel didn’t watch, didn’t know _everything._

His ass hurts stretched beyond endurance by the widest part of the hound’s dick, Dean sucks in air, desperate to keep from crying out again, humiliating himself and begging a fucking animal for something as ridiculous as mercy.

Another snap of the hound’s hips and it’s almost a relief to feel the creature’s dick narrowing, sliding deeper in an almost easy glide.

Then he remembers the knot.

“Please, nooo—,” escapes in a wet sob as he feels the hellhound’s knot against his ass. He can feel it against his asshole already impossibly large, larger than the thickest part of the dick that’s drilled into his guts.

It split him open in hell, ripped him to pieces over and over, day after day.

Stupidly, Dean is almost happy to feel it, the hellhound is going to rip him apart and that will be that. 

Except he’d be leaving Sammy and Cas and—

Over him, the hellhound growls its hips speeding up, its orange-sized knot battering Dean’s already tortured hole into submission.

Dean isn’t sure when it pops in, stuffs him like a damn Christmas turkey. He faints probably, loses time like he was never able to in hell. It feels like he’s about to feel the hound’s dick in his throat.

While he’d been unconscious, more of the sheet that’s keeping him trapped got ripped. He’s ground into mattress with every shove of the hound’s hips, his dick getting scraped raw against the cheap crumpled cotton, cubbed up from the friction alone without Dean’s say so.

He buries his face in the disgusting pillow hoping to suffocate himself in the soggy cotton knowing that things will only get worse from here.

The hound’s rhythm becomes erratic.

The pressure of the knot against his insides grows torturous pressing on places Dean doesn’t want to think about. 

The hound whines and shifts its weight sending pangs of strange sensation through Dean’s body. Not pain that settles in his balls and bladder, horrible and confusing—not that his dick cares.

The hound’s dick twitches inside him, like a fat, eyeless snake rooting inside him. Above him, the hellhound pants its sandpaper-like tongue dragging lazily against the back of Dean’s neck.

The pressure in his gut increases and this he remembers, the hellhound’s thick come clogging up his gut—it burned in hell, burned right through him. Now, it feels like his guts are being filled with cement, weighing him down every twitch of the hellhound’s hips rocking Dean’s stupid dick against the mattress, making it drool and ache.

“Please—,” comes out like a collection of sounds more than a word, like a wounded, dying animal’s last sound.

The hound’s knot swells impossibly large.

Dean’s dick twitches and spills; piss or come adding to the mess in the sheets. He doesn’t feel anything, doesn’t feel pleasure, not even relief that soon the damn demon dog will be done with him.

His abdomen hurts.

His gut is about to burst, Dean is certain of it.

The hellhound licks him again, its nose poking him in the ear.

His face is wet with snot and tears.

Dean doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop crying.

He’ll die sobbing like a girl hanging off a hellhound’s dick.

Coming again, sobbing, messy, and loud feeling the knot in his ass flare again as his muscles tighten around it as Dean gives up.

The hellhound growls its pleasure at his bitch’s surrender.


End file.
